A Promise Kept
by Bardess of Avon
Summary: Oneshot in which Tommy makes - and keeps - a promise.


A/N: If anyone saw the oneshot I posted yesterday, never fear: this one ends considerably happier.

So, I got to thinking a while back about Tommy. Why he was headed to America and what he was leaving behind in Ireland. And slowly, piece by piece, this idea came to me. Also, if anyone has read _Save All Who Dare the Eagle's Flight, _please note that this does not fall in line with that universe.

Disclaimer: Tommy Ryan is the property of James Cameron (isn't he lucky?). All other characters in this fic belong to me.

Enjoy!

* * *

The couple sat on a bench, hands entwined and heads bent close together. A man in his twenties recognized one of them and made a beeline for them; upon catching sight of the solemn looks on their faces, however, he quickly skirted around them and pretended not to have noticed the heavy moment passing between the pair.

"Yeh don't have te go."

"I know I don't," he murmured, stroking her hand.

"Then why are you?" she asked with more than a hint of desperation lining her voice.

"Elsie says her husband can get me a job; I'll make enough money te send fer you," he promised.

She bit her lip and glanced around the station. "Tommy…you know my Pa. He wants me te marry a man that'll work fer him and stay in Ireland."

He sighed. "I know, love, but yer pa…I can't work fer him. I can't stay under the same man knowing I can never leave. I want te be free, Tess; don't you?"

She winced. "O' course I do, Tommy; you know that. It's only…why couldn't ye stay here and work fer Pa fer a year or two, and then we could go to the States? Yeh don't have any money or prospects or anything right now; Pa could give yeh that."

"I've prided myself on never bein' in anyone's debt, and I plan on keepin' it that way," he said gruffly. "I want te make me own way in the world, and I can never do that if I have yer pa on my shoulder the whole time."

She buried her head in his shoulder. "I know. Yer a good man. Stubborn as a jackass, but a good man." She looked back up at him. "I just can't bear the thought of ye leavin' me."

"Here." Tommy reached around his neck and unclasped the pendant that hung there. "Take it."

"I can't," Tess protested at once. "It's yours, yer patron saint…"

"Saint Christopher will be with me with or without a piece o' metal," he reminded her, forcing it into her hand. "This way, you'll always have a piece o' me. So I'll never leave you."

Tess hesitated, staring at the chain coiled in her palm.

"I promise I'll never leave you, Tess," he whispered in her ear.

"Queenstown!" the conductor hollered.

Tommy straightened up. "That's me." He glanced back at Tess. "I have te go."

She nodded, smiling bitterly. "Yeh sure yeh don't need this? Saint Christopher is the patron saint of travelers."

"Ah, I'll be fine," he said, waving a dismissive hand. His face turned solemn. "I'll send fer you as soon as I can. We'll start a whole new life together."

She bit her lip and nodded.

"Queenstown!"

"I have te go," he said apologetically, rising.

She rose with him. "Take care…Patrick Dunleavy says New York is like an anthill at the foot of a bridge."

Tommy grabbed her waist and kissed her, a hard, searing kiss, too bold for the parlor and certainly too scandalous for the train station in Boher. "I will never leave you," he whispered again.

And then he was gone.

* * *

Tuesday's headlines screamed all of her worst fears. The _Titanic_ had struck an iceberg late Sunday night and sank early Monday morning. Over 2,000 souls were onboard. One of them was Tommy.

Too sick to eat or sleep or even talk, Tess hovered by the post office and waited for more news. The papers were full of unhelpful information, saying only that most of the passengers and crew had perished. Nothing would be confirmed until the rescue ship, the SS _Carpathia_, docked late Wednesday night.

Tess clutched the pendant around her neck and prayed.

* * *

Thursday morning's paper published a list of reported survivors.

Tommy's name was not on the list.

Nor was it on the updated list the following day, or the day after that.

The final confirmation was the telegram from Tommy's older sister, Elsie, the one who lived in New York and was awaiting his arrival.

_WAITED ON THE QUAY ALL NIGHT STOP NO SIGN OF TOMMY STOP KEEPING HIM IN PRAYERS STOP_

Tess's mother, of course, only wanted to say what people always say when someone dies.

"He's in a better place," she repeated over and over until Tess got sick of it.

"I fail te see how the bottom of the Atlantic is a better place," she snapped.

And then she cried and cried and cried, because it was the first time she had allowed herself to accept that Tommy was not going to send for her. Not anymore.

* * *

The town held a funeral for Tommy, even though there was no body. His family gathered up their favorite memories of him—a pipe he'd carved, the pocketknife he'd given to Joe, his lucky dice, a rare photograph—and put them in a box. Tess watched them place the memories in a box, was tempted to stop them and add the pendant hanging around her neck to the pieces of Tommy…but the moment passed and the box was closed, and soon the last pieces of Tommy Ryan were disappearing into the earth.

* * *

The knock on her door came two weeks after the sinking.

An anxious-faced boy not much younger than herself stood on the front porch. He licked his lips when she asked how she could help him. "Is this the home of Theresa Moran?"

She nodded. "I'm Theresa Moran."

The boy blanched. "Oh, Miss, I'm sorry…this letter was supposed te arrive weeks ago, but it got sent te the wrong Moran and the mail was backed up, so it's late…I'm awfully sorry, ma'am."

"That's all right," she said curiously before catching sight of the sender. She snatched the letter out of his hand. "When was this sent?"

"April 11th, ma'am. I'm really very sorry—"

Tess slammed the door in his face and ran upstairs, tearing the letter out of its envelope. It bore the insignia of the White Star Line; he must have written it on the _Titanic_.

The last thing he ever wrote.

_Dear Tess,_

_By the time you get this, knowing the post in Limerick, I'll probably already be in the States. _

_I know you're worried about a lot of things, and I know it doesn't help any for me to say it like this, but: don't be. I promised I was going to stay with you, and I'm holding to that promise. I know you're scared of what everyone at home will think if they find out, but I don't want you to think I'm running off to another country and leaving you. I'm doing this __for__ you, and for the baby. I don't want our child growing up in Ireland, not when there's a land of opportunity just sitting and waiting for us across the sea._

_I have to finish this up; the ship's going to leave soon and they're taking up letters. _

_Take care of yourself while I'm away; don't want you stunting the baby's growth before you even start showing. I love you, and remember the promise I made to you._

_Love,_

_Tommy_

Tess's hand had moved unconsciously to her stomach as she read the letter; as if responding to its father's words, the little something inside of her gave the tiniest of flutters.

_I will never leave you_.

* * *

"Tommy Ryan, get away from that railing!"

A face almost hidden under a mop of sandy curls grinned. "I'm all right, Ma."

Tess scowled at the nine-year-old. "Yer slight; it wouldn't be hard fer you te slip between the rungs and, and—"

"Oh, Ma, keep your hair on," he snorted.

She swatted his rear.

Tommy gave a protesting yelp and rubbed his bottom with a resentful look. "You've been antsy this whole trip."

"I don't like boats," she said stiffly, wrapping her shawl tighter around her shoulders.

"It's not a boat, it's a ship," he informed her with a smug look. He ducked her wrathful hand. "If you don't like them so much, why are we on one, anyway?"

"Because it's important fer you te know where ye came from," she informed him.

The boy gave her an unimpressed look. "I was born in New York."

"But yer blood is Irish, and it's time yeh looked on the motherland." She put an arm around his shoulders, steering him to look at the slowly approaching land. "Yeh need te know where yer parents came from and why we left."

For once, Tommy contemplated her words in silence. "Why did you leave?"

Tess considered it. "Yer father saw somethin' better in America. I suppose I wanted te find what he was lookin' fer."

"What was he looking for?"

"An escape." The words were out of her mouth before she realized she was saying them.

Tommy looked up at her. "Is that what you found?"

She considered again. "It was more…I found a different way."

Satisfied, he returned his gaze to the Emerald Isle.

A peaceful moment passed between the two. Tess toyed with the pendant hanging around Tommy's neck, the same one his father had worn years ago. Sometimes, Tess felt as if Tommy was standing nearby, watching them. She liked to believe it, at least.

"Hey, Ma," Tommy Jr. said with a would-be innocent tone. "Since there's no Prohibition in Ireland, can I drink?"

"What do you think?" she scoffed. Impertinent as his father.

"I know, I know; _when angels fly out of me arse_," he said, imitating the Irish lilt that still hadn't left her after all these years.

She reached to swat him, but he was already darting away, knowing he was going to get in trouble for repeating one of her favorite expressions.

"_Thomas Christopher Ryan_!"

The boy cackled and raced down the deck. Tess tore after him, a smile on her face.


End file.
